Not With Haste
by roughdiamond5
Summary: In a world where literacy is restricted to the upperclass, Mathias finds his soulmate's first words to him written on his forearm. Lukas doesn't.
1. Not With Haste

**This story has been in my head for months, and I finally had to use some of my precious time in Hamburg and Berlin to get it out. I always knew my utter obsession with dennor and the Nordics had to catch up with me somehow. The title comes from the Mumford and Sons song of the same name, which I suppose works well enough for soul mates.**

 **I hope the story makes it clear, but ages are as follows: Mathias and Berwald are oldest, Tino is a year younger, Lukas is two years younger, and Emil is eight years younger (six younger than Lukas).**

Mathias gets the words when he's seven years old. He's roughhousing with Berwald and Gilbert on the streets, waiting for his mother to finish cooking lunch and call him inside, when Berwald finally tackles him to the ground, yanks his arms behind his back, and stiffens.

"Ber?" Mathias asks after a breathless moment.

"When d'd somebody write on ya?"

"Huh?" Gilbert, who has restrained Mathias's legs, sits up.

Berwald gets off of Mathias so that they can all properly see Mathias's arm. Mathias yanks back his sleeve, expecting dirt or something that will make his mother frown, but instead, he finds black ink in shaky but precise cursive on his arm. There are six words and some punctuation.

All three boys are silent for a moment, and then Gilbert stands abruptly. "I have to go," he says, not meeting Mathias's eyes.

"What?" gapes Mathias. "Why?"

"I just…look, Grossvati already yells at me for enough unawesome stuff, but I just know he's going to get upset if I told him I tackled nobility, okay?"

"Nobility?" Mathias stands. "Gil, you know I'm not noble. You've been to my house, you know we don't have anything—"

"Yeah, well apparently you do now!" Gilbert barks. "Face it, if your soulmate can read and write, they're noble. Either that or a merchant. And either way, now I have to treat you fancy!"

Mathias flounders for words. "But Gil..."

"Look, I'll—I'll see you around, okay?" Gilbert leaves, but not without a bit of hesitation. Mathias wants to follow, but doesn't know what he'll say if he catches Gilbert before he can make it back home.

"He'll come 'round," mutters Berwald, standing behind Mathias. "You know he's a bastard of some Prussian general. He has more hist'ry with words."

"I don't want history, though," says Mathias, frowning down at his arm. He can't read it, of course—nobody he knows can. Literacy is firmly restricted to those with the money for books and teachers, and those who make the laws. Commoners like himself don't read.

But if the words written clearly on his arm tell him anything, it's that whoever his soulmate is, is important. Especially for the person to be learning to write so young. Words don't normally appear until one's soulmate has mastered at least basic spelling, and the earlier the mastery, the higher up on the chain of power.

Thinking of the stories he hears about nobles' rules and fights and expectations, Mathias feels vaguely sick. And then he looks closer at the spindly writing. Somebody practiced for hours with a teacher to get this right. And everybody knows that once you have that down, your soulmate sees the result. If Mathias's soulmate practices, the writing on Mathias's arm will become neater with time. If Mathias's mother can scrounge up enough money, he could even pay a reader to find out what it says.

"Are you going to see a reader?" asks Berwald, almost as if hearing his thoughts. Mathias pauses, then shakes his head.

"I don't want to worry Mor about it."

"Ya know she's going to worry about this."

"What? Why?"

"Well, what if your soulmate's parents aren't happy with you bein' a commoner?"

Mathias blinks. He hasn't considered that. "Well, how will they find me? There are a ton of commoners."

"Maybe the words will give 'em a hint."

"I dunno, then." Mathias grimaces. "I guess I'll go ask Mor, then."

"Want me to come with ya?"

Berwald is being surprisingly helpful today. Normally he just grunts at whatever Mathias is saying. Mathias chalks it up to the strange circumstances of today and beams at him. "Yeah, thanks buddy."

They set off through an alleyway to where Mathias's home is, and Mathias catches Berwald sneaking multiple peaks at his arm as it swings with his walk. "What?"

"D'ya think you'll marry them?"

"Well, they're my soulmate, so I guess."

"You better not get an even bigger head because of this."

Mathias barks a laugh. "Nah, that isn't gonna happen. It's just a soulmate, Ber. I'm still me."

* * *

"Wow, your grace, it looks like your handwriting is really coming along well!"

"Huh? Oh, thanks, Tino," says Lukas as he looks up from his book. He's been able to read for most of his eleven years, but writing eluded him until almost age six because he couldn't find the right way to hold the pen. Even now he's not entirely satisfied with the shakiness of his letters, but he'll keep practicing. After all, if he's to inherit his father's title, his correspondence must be flawless.

"It must also be exciting," Tino continues, "to know that your soulmate saw it."

Lukas stops reading and looks at Tino. "So?"

Tino squints, a nervous habit that suggests that he probably wishes he hadn't mentioned that. "Well, now your soulmate knows who you are."

"…Yeah, I guess you're right." To be honest, Lukas hasn't ever given soulmates much thought. His own parents underwent a staging; their parents told each other what their children's words were, and then they used those words when they first met. It created an artificial bond, but a bond all the same. Lukas assumed that he too would undergo a staging, but he wouldn't mind a natural meeting just to have something to contrast from the world he knew. His mother died giving birth to his little brother, Emil, but from what Lukas remembered, their parents had always shared companionable silence at best and bitter jabs at worst. The relationship worked, but only just.

Lukas's words haven't come in yet, though, so he doesn't know either way how his fate will go. It's getting a little late—honestly, Lukas thought he'd be the later one between him and his soulmate—but his teachers say that's nothing to worry about. Merchant children, for instance, don't start really writing until age nine or ten, and they make perfectly good matches.

"Tino," he asks suddenly, "have you gotten your words?"

"Oh, no," says Tino.

"But your soulmate has probably seen his words, right?"

"Sorry, your grace, but no. I'm a servant."

Lukas suspects that he knew that servants couldn't read, but he always pushes it to the back of his mind. In his world there are stagings and natural matches, and they both happen in about equal proportion, and that's all. The servant uniforms cover up their blank forearms, and Lukas doesn't speak to commoners.

An idea forms in Lukas's head. Tino has always been friendly, and Lukas really enjoys his company. And this way, he can even practice his own writing.

"I could teach you," Lukas offers.

Tino startles. "Your grace?"

"It could be a secret. Your soulmate could be impressed with your education, and helping you would be a good way for me to practice my letters."

"Your grace, I—that's illegal, you know."

"So?" Lukas never understood those laws. If he derives so much enjoyment from reading books, why should others be denied that same pleasure? Just like nobody should be denied a lack of words on their arm—a lack that Lukas, day by day, snide comment after snide comment from his father, is very keenly feeling.

"Well, your grace is very kind…but, no, thank you."

Lukas blinks, pausing to make sure he heard right. "But…why?"

Tino has long gotten past the phase of cowering at Lukas's status. While he still uses titles for his own comfort, he knows that Lukas expects him to speak his mind. "It's illegal, first of all," he explains. "I need this job to help my family, you know that, your grace." And Lukas does—even at twelve years old, Tino is already a kitchen boy who has been specially requested by Lukas to deliver snacks and tea and take plates. Learning to write and then meeting his soulmate one day would mean having to hide the person's arm for the rest of their life, or risk Tino's arrest. Tino could be deemed unhirable at any point in his life if that writing were seen. "But even beyond that, well—I know I'll have to wait for my soulmate, whether I'm literate or not. I'm already pretty sure I'm going to have one, too, so why make them worry about me being nobility, or about protecting me from arrest?"

"But, don't you want to be able to tell which person is your soulmate? Don't you want to be sure?"

Tino shrugs. "I think I'll just know. I just have to let myself be patient. It's all that any of us can really do, even the ones with writing."

Lukas slowly nods. "I suppose you're right. Patience, and so on."

"Don't worry, your grace," Tino says with a softer smile as he whisks away Lukas's tray of drained tea. "It's hard to wait, but I hear it's worth it." And he shuts the door to Lukas's room.

Lukas stares for a moment at his eternally blank forearms. This soulmate of his had better truly be worth it. As it is, Lukas wants to bash whoever it is in the head for taking so long to learn to write.

Underneath his anger are twin fears. First: that his soulmate is "the wrong sort". Second: that he doesn't have one at all.

And so what if he doesn't? He has his brother to love, and a house to take charge of one day, and books to keep his mind occupied. So he reopens his book and keeps reading.

* * *

"I found my soulmate."

Thirteen-year-old Mathias chokes on his chicken. "Jesus, man, you don't just announce that while somebody's eating!"

"I had to get back at ya for the mouse incident last week."

Grumbling, Mathias wipes his eyes of choking tears and gives his full attention to Berwald. They're sitting at the foot of the docks, eating lunch and watching the laborers at the ship yard. Berwald has no words on his arm, so he's subject to a different sort of ridicule now that he's broached the topic of soulmates—the "are you sure you didn't just eat something funny for dinner" kind of ridicule that Mathias wishes he was dealt. Instead, he wears long shirts even in summer, and dark ones if he can find them, because wet white clothing sticks to his forearms and gives him away. Fortunately, covering forearms is expected of everyone as a show of modesty.

"His name is Tino," Berwald begins, and already Mathias is interrupting.

"Tino, eh? How did I know it would be a guy?"

Berwald glares. "The same way you knew when ya started addressing your soulmate as a 'he' four years ago. C'n I continue?" Mathias nods, grinning. "I met him at the market. He was getting some things for this noble house he works for, and…well, he's the one."

"Ooooooooh, Berwald finally has his somebody!" Mathias crows. "So what did you say first? Was it memorable?"

For the first time in Mathias's recent memory, Berwald blushes. "I…didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't say anythin'."

Mathias's smile freezes. Everybody says something. That's how they _know_. Mathias vaguely knows how it works with the words—one speaks, the other recognizes and tests with a response, and they have their happily ever after—but the more he's thinking about it, the harder he's imagining anybody without words just _knowing_.

"So then how do you know he's the one?" he presses.

Berwald shrugs awkwardly. Then again, there's nothing that Mathias's long-time buddy does that isn't awkward. "I just know, is all. I saw him talking with one of the merchants, and he was smiling, and I just knew."

"But _what_ , Ber, what do you know?"

"That he's the one I want to spend my life with. Maybe even need to spend it with."

"Without the words and everything?"

"Without th' words."

Mathias nods slowly.

"I haven't lost it."

"You have, Ber. You're off the deep end."

"Oh? And who are ya to talk? You're the one who's been going on for years about how you wish you could read just so your soulmate doesn't—what was it?"

"Feel lonely," Mathias mutters, feeling somewhat abashed. A few years into having his words, Mathias had slowly begun to realize that his illiteracy meant that his soulmate had nothing on his own arm. Something about the idea of someone in the world staring at their arm with nothing on it, makes Mathias's stomach turn. In a half-baked attempt to compensate, he's been stealing scraps of papers that merchants dispose of, and tries to puzzle over the letters. He knows that the dot after the letters normally ends the sentence, and sometimes the dot has a line or a small squiggle or another dot above it. Mathias has a dot at the end of his words.

Only Berwald knows about him stealing papers. Mathias keeps them hidden, and sometimes solicits Berwald's help in finding patterns. It's hard, though, when he can't hear the words being spoken to learn what letter makes what sound. He and Berwald both know this, but out of Berwald's loyalty and Mathias's foolhardiness, they keep trying.

Mathias sighs. "That's a little different, though, Ber. Me breaking the law is one thing, but my soulmate is waiting for me. I'd feel like shit if I didn't do something to let him know I'm waiting for him, right? Especially since I might take longer to find him, given that he's noble and all."

Berwald raises an eyebrow. "So how is my soulmate different?"

"Well, how do you know that you…?" Mathias purposefully ignores Berwald's deepening glower. "It's a legitimate question, admit it."

"I know the same way any other soulmate knows. He's perfect, Matt. You just haven't seen him."

"And _you_ haven't spoken to him." Mathias taps his forearm. "Power of words, remember?"

Berwald rolls his eyes. "At least I've met my soulmate sooner than you'll meet yours."

"Low blow, Ber. You know I don't have any control over that."

"But ya can do somethin' for him in the meantime."

"Oh, just like you can talk to Timo anytime you want?"

"It's _Tino_ , and I can."

"Fine." Mathias finishes his chicken and sets down the bones with a smirk that Berwald already looks wary of. "You know what? I'm going to learn to read, and you're going to talk to Tino. We'll do it together, because we both look like a bunch of cowards right now."

Berwald raises his eyebrows. "Ya know there's a difference between talking to your soulmate and breakin' the _law_ , right?"

"So that means you'll beat me to it, right?" says Mathias with a sharper grin. He knows what he's doing. He knows Berwald, and Berwald needs this push or else he'll stare after Tino for years and not say a word.

Frankly, Mathias needs this push too. He won't admit it, but he stares at his stolen papers even without Berwald around to brainstorm with. He can't get out of his head the image of somebody crying—or worse, steeling himself from constantly crying—because he wakes up every day with a blank forearm. He's heard of nobles using needles and inks from the east to write words where none were, just to force a match. The process sounds painful, and downright humiliating to boot.

And so, so unfair. If Mathias gets to stare at the graceful, thin handwriting on his arm and wonder about the person who wrote it, why shouldn't Mathias's soulmate get the same treatment? Mathias prays that it's only in his head that his soulmate feels so alone and cast out. Jail time for illegal literacy means little to him, not if he's careful.

Not if it means his soulmate can think of him, too.

* * *

"I got my words."

Lukas doesn't startle easily, but the words from the doorway wake him up more suddenly than anything else. Pulling the covers off, he gestures for Emil to come in and sit on his bed. "Let's see them, then."

Both brothers are fair-skinned and stoic, but each brother knows that the other is somewhat trembling. Lukas with curiosity, Emil with—something else.

Emil thrusts his left wrist out for Lukas to take, his eight-year-old arm small in fourteen-year-old Lukas's hands. Lukas takes the wrist gently and lifts Emil's sleeve to reveal—

Well, it's not their language. It doesn't even use the same alphabet.

"It came in overnight," Emil says softly. "I think it's a foreigner."

Lukas stares for a moment at his brother's words. There seem to be a few distinct groupings of marks, which makes him think that this is only a phrase. Maybe a greeting or a courtesy, like "Excuse me." He thinks that the markings remind him of somewhere far east, though of course he doesn't know the tongue. Their father is a noble, not a merchant, so Lukas must concern himself with the highest form of their own language, rather than knowing other languages.

He looks into Emil's eyes and feels a pang of sympathy. Emil has always been a bit of a homebody, practically clinging to Lukas since birth, and while he's cooled down recently and allowed less affection, he has shown little interest in the world outside their home. Having a foreigner for a soulmate opens doors for travel and trade—many merchants prefer to tattoo foreigner words onto their unmarked children—but Lukas can hardly imagine the same child he read to for years, boarding a ship to travel around the world.

"So," Lukas says after a beat, "how do you feel?"

"Scared," Emil says, and Lukas can't help but snort a little at his brother's unfailing bluntness. "I want to stay home with you, Lukas. I don't want to travel. And I definitely don't want some foreigner trying to _kiss_ me," he says as if the very idea is contaminating him.

Lukas loosens his grip on Emil's wrist and takes his hand instead. "First of all," he says, "you can always be with me, for all of your life. You'll always be my little brother. But this will always be your soulmate, too, and that's also good. I know that's scary, but maybe you'll like them. And you'll probably have a long time until you meet them, too."

"Does that mean I'll have to learn this language?"

"Not if you don't want to. Who knows? Maybe your soulmate wants to come here to stay."

"Well…I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable," says Emil, swinging Lukas's hand like he used to do when he was littler. "I mean, if they have to speak our language."

"So learn theirs," Lukas says with a shrug, to lessen Emil's stress about the matter. "Now, later, it doesn't matter. You just know now that you have a soulmate."

Emil looks ready to speak, but then stops himself at the last minute. Lukas knows as soon as he stops exactly what he was going to say. Lukas's words still haven't come in. At this rate, his soulmate is probably either a commoner or an idiot. His father has naturally been scanning the public records for a person with words in Lukas's handwriting, but it's very difficult for recordkeepers to mimic handwriting styles, and a good number of commoners can escape registration through pastes on their arms or a job that doesn't register. It also helps that Lukas lacking words is better than Lukas having the wrong words—blank arms can be tattooed, but the shaky print of an illegal commoner writer must be corrected or eradicated. Both of which are extremely painful. Just like anything to do with having the "wrong" words.

Emil still looks like he wants to say something, but won't for politeness's sake. "You can ask," says Lukas.

"Do you like not having your words?" Emil bursts. "I'm not sure I like having mine."

Lukas is quiet for a moment. Then, "No. I really don't."

"Why not? Is it because your soulmate is a commoner?"

"…No, that's not it. It's more that I wish I knew what to look for. I don't want a staging, but I know I don't have much choice about it. But maybe I'd have more choice if I knew what this person was going to say to me, if I could know what to expect."

"Does staging hurt?"

"Not at first, I think. It's more like—well, like our parents." Lukas has avoided telling Emil about the mother who died giving birth to him, but with the arrival of Emil's words, he needs Emil to know that he's relatively lucky. "They were staged, and they got along most of the time, but I knew they were still waiting for something. It was like they'd cut something off from themselves, and they couldn't remember what it was, but something was wrong. But you don't have to worry about that," he says, curling his hand into Emil's, "because you have a better chance at happiness. If your soulmate is around the same age and is learning to write so early, she's probably of high status. And if she's a foreigner, she has to come here at some point or else you would have a different soulmate. That probably makes her a merchant. Father may not be thrilled for you to marry a foreigner, but merchants bring power and status."

"And I'd love them."

Lukas pauses. "And you'd love them."

The grand clock in the hallway chimes at that, and the brothers know that it's time for breakfast. Their father will join them and no doubt see the marks, and spend the rest of breakfast making plans to identify the language and send samples of Emil's handwriting to foreigner families, to arrange a possible early meeting.

Lukas stands with Emil, who lets go of his hand. He's trying to assert himself as too big for his brother's gestures, but Lukas can see the twitches and reaches for his hand anyway. To his surprise, Emil squeezes it as they go down the stairs.

"Your soulmate is probably just an idiot," Emil says.

Lukas blinks.

"For not learning to write yet," Emil clarifies. "He should be more polite than that. He knows you're waiting."

Lukas mulls this over, then sighs. "I guess so."

* * *

Getting a job with words on his arm is more difficult than Mathias expects. Of course rumors abound about who has words, but employers will look at the sixteen-year-old and refuse to hire him based off of rumors alone. Those who will, request him to be registered. Mathias can't register, though, because it puts him at the top of the list for suspected literacy, and if he's going to learn how to read, nobody should be able to pin the new words on some noble's arm to him.

Berwald talked to Tino after a full year of watching him run errands in the marketplace. It came to the point where Berwald began working at one of the stalls as an assistant, just to catch sight of him. According to Berwald, Tino glanced his way for quite a few days before gracing his stall and refusing to take help from anyone but Berwald. Berwald is now sixteen and Tino fifteen, and they visit each other every night. Mathias can't deny how happy they look and he loves how talkative Tino is, but he wishes that he didn't feel like such an awkward third wheel.

In contrast, Mathias's reading lessons haven't gone nearly so well. At first he thought he might actually beat Berwald when he found a child's speller lost in the gutter and could see some of the letter patterns with matching pictures, but it turns out that language has a lot of exceptions that children's spellers can't cover, so the documents that Mathias "reuses" still don't make sense. He can understand some of the letters—"d" and "t" and "s" and "f" and a few others—but sometimes "h" ruins things by changing their sounds, which is horrible because he knows that his words have two "h"s in them.

It also doesn't help that his words are in a sort of looping, connected script, but the children's speller has the words separated. They're easier to read and copy that way, but Mathias knows that any blocky print on his soulmate's arm will give away his social position. If the lack of words hasn't done it, anyway.

The cursive script has one advantage: it's thin and light, so he can plausibly deny that he has words at all. As a result, after five weeks of searching for work, Mathias finally gets a job under Arthur Kirkland, portmaster of their city. Arthur comes from an island a sea away from here, an island which views words as something personal, so he takes Mathias at his word, refuses to squint through his shirt, and waves away rumors about his forearm.

In gratitude, Mathias works hard to remember all of Arthur's procedures and rules, and does his tasks with zest. He's working with Gilbert, who hasn't quite treated him the same since they were seven. Gil does keep quiet to Kirkland, though, about Mathias's words, and they're almost to the point where all three can rib at each other in their shared office by the harbor.

It isn't until one evening, when Arthur entrusts the keys to Mathias so he can go home to see his wife, that Mathias realizes: Arthur has books. As a portmaster he has to be literate to keep records of ships that come and go with what cargo, and Mathias would be lying if he said that that wasn't part of the reason why he applied to work here. But reading for pleasure is a sign of either wealth or high status.

Mathias stands in Arthur's office, looking at the single row of books illuminated by the light of the setting sun, and debates. Hesitantly he reaches out, brushes the binding of one, and withdraws his hand. Stretches it out again. Snatches the book, opens it, and—

It's another speller. Something about this doesn't surprise Mathias; Arthur is a sentimental man, and of course he would keep these sorts of things. Fastidious handwriting, probably Arthur's when he was a boy, marks the pages. But the writing is in cursive, and above each line is a picture of what Mathias assumes is the sentence. There's a cat with a ball on one page, a smiling star on the other.

And at the end of every page is a bit of space left over. Arthur was obviously satisfied with his handwriting, or else fed up with the boyhood lessons.

Mathias really knows he shouldn't, but he's so close, and if he can only figure out the words on the page and copy the letters, maybe he can reach just enough literacy for his handwriting to show up on his soulmate's arm. And then, because he probably will never be advanced, he can always deny he can read. Because of course he can't—he just knows how to make the letters, and what most of them sound like.

He smuggles the book home tucked in the waistband of his pants, and spends the night practicing his letters on the back of a scrap he found two weeks ago and listening to his mother breathe in her sleep. She doesn't know about his plan to learn to write, only about his plan to wait for his soulmate despite her worry that he would get his heart broken by a rich girl. She insisted that he get a job so that one day he could save to provide for _someone_ , soulmate or otherwise.

Mathias arrives at work with dark circles under his eyes, deflated hair, and a grin that falls off as soon as Arthur greets him that morning.

"Always so early, Mathias. Why don't you come into my office for some tea?"

Mathias wonders if Arthur knows, and then steps into the office only to see the obviously blank spot where the speller used to be. Of course he knows. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Cream and sugar?" Arthur asks, pouring tea into two cups.

"Sure," says Mathias. He's not ready for this.

"Sit then, boy," says Arthur, and though he doesn't say it unkindly, Mathias is ready to burst as soon as Arthur takes the seat in front of him, behind the desk.

"I didn't mean any disrespect, sir," Mathias spews. "I swear I was going to return it. I didn't even write in it."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Can you write?"

"Well…no."

"Not yet, you mean."

Mathias purses his lips, trying to force himself to remain silent. Arthur doesn't look like he's going to kill him, but the deadliest ones always do.

"Mathias," Arthur says, "do you know who my wife is?"

Mathias is expecting something like "the daughter of a policeman, just give me a moment and I'll call him over." What he gets instead is, "Francine Bonnefoy."

"…Bonnefoy?"

"You should really work on your knowledge of this city's high ranks, Mathias, if you're going to meet a soulmate from that background. The Bonnefoys are not nobility, but—"

"No, I know. They're the biggest merchant family, right?"

"And one of the most powerful, yes." Arthur leans back in his chair. "I couldn't believe my own eyes when I saw her words on my arm. My family wasn't poor, but it was far from well-to-do. The registration found me when I applied to be a sailor, and they took me to the Bonnefoy manor."

"And?"

"They taught me to write. It was all a test, of course, but I stayed in the manor in a small room for a few weeks, learning the letters from that speller you have and being quizzed on everything I knew about the family's business."

"…That's amazing, sir." Mathias can't express the half of it. He's never heard of this practice, and he's struck breathless by the chance that this family has given an outsider.

"Oh, it was the best they could do. Francine is calm enough now, but back then she was a spitfire who wouldn't settle for anything but her soulmate, so when I came around they did their best to do quality control. And they monitored her, of course. When my writing appeared on her arm and I seemed to have passed their tests, we were allowed to meet." Arthur subconsciously rubs his wrist. "And the rest is history."

"So then your job as portmaster—"

"Is because of my lesser background, and to learn the family business. They ask me to make a name for myself so that I can care for a Bonnefoy properly." Arthur smiles slightly. "But they let me marry her the minute I got the job."

"…Sir, is this common?"

"Increasingly so among the merchants. The nobility, however, have prestige as well as money to protect, so they still prefer fellow nobles or merchants to commoners. That, I fear," he says while leaning on his desk, "is what you're up against."

Mathias begins to roll up his sleeve to ask for advice, but Arthur turns away. "No, no, where I come from the words are only for close friends or family to see. I know you have them, that's enough."

Mathias rolls his sleeve back down. "So…are you angry?"

"About the speller? A little. I would like to keep it for sentimental reasons, but I remember my own years wondering about my soulmate and how she was doing without me. You're foolish, Mathias, but you're brave to take matters into your own hands."

"For risking arrest, sir, I'd say I'm more foolish. But he has to know."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Indeed he does." He leans back. "So, I'll be needing that speller back."

Right. Of course Mathias isn't going to be that lucky. "Of course, sir. Sorry again."

"You'll be sorry later, Mathias. You have a new mandatory extra hour of work, unpaid. In my office, with me and that speller. Starting tonight, and lasting until you learn your lesson. Do you understand me?"

Mathias blinks. And then, despite sleep deprivation marking his face, his smile brightens to the point where he's beaming.

"I think I do, sir."

* * *

Lukas storms up the stairs after his father's fourth attempt that week to bring up the topic of tattoos. He's seventeen, and his father has a legacy to uphold, and since Emil will be marrying a foreign merchant one day, it's up to Lukas to keep the Bondevik name in good standing with a wife and child. Lukas has so far deflected the topic, though he doesn't know why he continues to press against it.

Maybe his soulmate is dead. That would explain it, and possibly even be better than the complicated alternatives. Maybe Lukas is just meant to be alone, meant to not drag a soulmate into his overly controlled life. Meant to not deal with the politics of introducing a soulmate to the other nobility, or find a role for a soulmate in his family's estate. Maybe he's only meant to love Emil, no matter how stubborn the now-teenager has been lately.

Maybe this is all he gets.

Lukas can go through with his life alone, he knows. It's probably for the best, anyway.

Sighing, he closes his door, leans against it, and feels for his bare wrists one more time. His father has been insisting that he wear light-colored shirts in case Lukas has been hiding something from him, which would be ridiculous. Lukas knows his father prefers a blank arm to manipulate, but he wishes that his father would prefer it for the right reasons. Some parents try to stage or tattoo because they want their children to be happy with their partner while still upholding the family's status. Lukas's father, on the other hand, is of the party that prefers their children to have words to keep up with the fashion, as if an unnatural bond were better than losing the family's honor to a commoner soulmate. Both ideas ultimately keep the family in power, but one at least considers the children denied their first soulmates.

Lukas rubs his wrists, staring at them and wondering whether he's glad his wrist is blank. He's so tired of waiting that he no longer cares what's on his wrist.

Except that something is there.

Squinting, Lukas peels back his sleeve to reveal the most hesitant of cursive writing. Awkward, scrawled, purely sloppy in some places as if rushed. But five words are there.

 _I don't suppose you're Lukas?_

His idiot soulmate is going to _look_ for him. Lukas suddenly feels hot inside, like something has caught on fire and spread much too fast. He has to tell someone, he has to run somewhere, he has to _find_ this person who is obviously doing something wrong and yet so very right, just for Lukas, but all he can really do is wait until his father sees and explodes.

The fire inside of Lukas is doused with cold water. His father will see through his pale shirt that the words have appeared. Tattooing is now out of the question, unless he can find a particularly clever artist to spin the words to match a fellow noble, but now staging is a more viable option.

Lukas launches himself off from the door he was leaning on and stands in the middle of the room, tracing the words on his forearm with one finger. It seems like so long ago that he learned how to write—so long that somebody knew he was out there, waiting. And only just now was the responding message reaching him.

"Your grace?" Tino knocks at the door.

Lukas shakes himself out of his reverie. Tino normally comes after particularly difficult dinners with tea, to allow Lukas to vent. Lukas almost never does, but Tino's chattering presence does soothe him after tense conversations with his father about choices he doesn't want to make. Tino must have heard that this dinner was rough.

Lukas is drawn between hiding the words for his own personal enjoyment and sharing them with his long-time confidante. He decides on the former; Emil is out for the week, meeting with a foreigner merchant family in town, but he still wants Emil to be the first to know. After, though, after. And in the meantime, the words will be all for him.

"Come in."

* * *

Mathias is taking inventory at the docks when he hears the insults. He's making tally marks next to Arthur's crude illustrations and the accompanying written descriptions, which actually help him better than the drawings they use just for show. He would love to write a note or two in the margins but after so many years he's just gotten back on Gilbert's good side and he'd rather not ruin that with another bit of "proof" that Mathias is rising up in the world.

Mathias's ears prick at a disturbance some meters away from him, and he looks up from the papers to find a gaggle of well-dressed children. They come here to escape their world for a bit, and normally Mathias is happy to oblige them. But these children sound like they're ganging up on one of their own, and that Mathias can't stand for. He sets his papers on one of the crates he was counting, and wanders towards the source of the noise.

"God, those freak markings!"

"Your own country's not good enough for you?"

"Got a taste for Asian dick, huh?"

"What? No!"

The kid denying the accusations can't be older than thirteen. He has light, almost white hair with skin to match, and he seems to be some sort of nobility. So do the other children, though, which puts him at a disadvantage.

"Hey!" Mathias barks. All five or so teens turn to stare at him with wide eyes. They're standing right at the edge of the pier. "I thought I made it clear you could be here if everyone played nice?"

"As if we have to listen to you!" says one gutsy kid. "You're the commoner."

Mathias sets his jaw. He won't play the soulmate card. He never once has. "I may be, but I'm the commoner who can kick you off the docks. Now run along and go terrorize someone else, alright?"

The four bullies look at each other. The fifth, the victim, looks at them. In a decisive move, the same child who snarked at Mathias pushes the victim backward before running away with his friends. The white-haired boy stumbles backwards and falls into the water with a loud "SPLASH."

Mathias dives before he can even think to wonder if the boy can swim or not. From the way he's flailing when Mathias finds him, apparently he can't. Mathias wraps a strong arm around the boy's upper chest and pulls him to the surface, trying not to be swallowed by the waves as the boy continues to resist the water as best he can. Both are gasping by the time Mathias navigates them to a ladder and hoists the boy up until he gains enough awareness to grab on and climb up.

"So—" Mathias gasps when they're both at the edge of the pier again. "Want me to go beat them up?"

The boy, panting and sputtering with the water he accidentally swallowed, looks at Mathias incredulously. "Can you?"

"I mean, I could. But I have no idea where they went. Oh well." He falls back onto the wooden slats of the pier. "They'll be back soon enough."

The two are silent for a few moments, catching their breath, the pale boy looking over Mathias with curiosity and something else. After a minute, Mathias knows what it is. "Thanks for that," the boy mumbles with slight embarrassment.

"No problem," Mathias says, grinning up at him. "Hope it wasn't too bad, whatever they said. It's probably nothing."

"No," said the boy with a sigh. "It's something." At Mathias's questioning look, he clams up.

"Oh, come on," Mathias presses with the teasing tone he normally uses on teens. "I did just dive into a harbor for you."

"Yeah, I guess," mutters the boy, now a little surly. Nonetheless, he rolls up his sleeve just enough to let Mathias see the first character of what is definitely not their language before he lets it fall back down. "I just came back from a meeting with another foreigner family."

"Another, huh? Just how many have you been seeing?"

"Too many," says the boy with a grimace. "Father wants me to practice my speaking so I can impress my soulmate's family, so I have to visit every Chinese family that comes into town. What Father doesn't realize is that China has different dialects, so often we just stare at each other."

Mathias sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry. That doesn't sound like any fun."

"It's not. You're lucky you don't have to deal with that."

Mathias raises an eyebrow. This boy can't see the writing on his arm, even though his wet shirt. And it only now settles in Mathias's mind that this kid probably _is_ noble. Arthur's wife, Francine, has been reporting to Arthur every so often about "late bloomers" within the young nobility. Francine has no way to check the newly-formed handwriting on their arms, though, or even to see if they're not tattoos, so Mathias is only given names: Matthew Williams, Lukas Bondevik, Lars van der Lee. Maybe if Mathias reveals his situation, this boy can help him narrow down the candidates. He shouldn't expect such a thing, of course—it's a very private matter in a very private world—but he can use all the help he can get.

"Believe it or not," Mathias says, sitting up and rolling up one sleeve, "I know what you mean."

The boy freezes. Taking it as a sign of understanding, Mathias keeps talking. "It showed up when I was seven, and let me tell you, I lost a few friends for it. It even took me forever to find this job, just because I refuse to register. Commoners like me aren't supposed to be soulmates to nobles, you know?"

"That's my brother's handwriting."

Mathias hears that statement like he feels a punch in the gut. He gapes at the boy. "What?"

"Lukas learned to write when he was six, and that's definitely his handwriting." The boy squints at Mathias. "And his words appeared less than a year ago."

Mathias is caught. On one hand, a member of nobility now knows he's breaking the law. On the other—the bigger, much more important other—somebody knows the handwriting that's been on his arm for so many years. Mathias swivels until his body is fully facing the boy.

"Did he like it?" is his first question. "I tried to learn for years, but it wasn't until my boss saw I'd stolen his speller that he had to teach me properly. Was he happy? Is he okay now? Wait, is he the oldest? I remember a Lukas in all the gossip, and—his name is Lukas! My soulmate—his name is Lukas!" Mathias cuts off there, his heart brimming with so many questions and yet becoming silent at the thought that _his soulmate has a name_ , and it's Lukas, and it's perfect. Lukas and Mathias, Mathias and Lukas.

The boy looks at him warily. "He was happy," he settles on. And this sole fact makes Mathias want to cry. So does the next statement. "You know, your timing is really bad," the boy continues. "Ever since the words showed up, Father has been speeding up the matchmaking process. Lukas stalled him for months, but he turned eighteen and now Father is forcing him to stage."

"Forcing him?" Mathias blanks. This is what he had feared. "Or what?"

"Or he's cut off."

"…Oh." Mathias doesn't know what about that statement unsettles him so much. Maybe it's that his soulmate is about to cut ties with him. Maybe it's that his soulmate— _Lukas_ —might be doing this willingly, favoring his family's stature over waiting for Mathias. Suddenly Mathias feels the yawning gap of knowing nothing about Lukas except that he is his, and that Mathias doesn't know if he can preserve even that.

The boy is standing. "The family arrives in a few hours. If we hurry, we can get home in time for you to meet him."

"Meet him?"

The boy brushes himself off and looks down at Mathias, who is still sitting. "Unless you don't want to?"

Meet his soulmate. Meet Lukas. Maybe even convince him to resist the staging, reject his title, choose Mathias. Mathias trembles a little, but for god's sake, he became literate—intervening in a staging is just one more step.

"No, no, I'm coming," Mathias says, standing. The boy is shorter than him by two heads. "Just let me—" He scans the harbor and finds Gilbert two ships away, checking up on the mooring. He jogs towards Gilbert, the boy trotting behind, both in wet clothes, until Mathias is in shouting distance.

"GIL," Mathias shouts, "I'M LEAVING EARLY TODAY."

"WHAT?" comes the response. "HOW COME?"

Lowering his voice as the two men approach each other, Mathias beams. "I've got someone to meet."

"What? Who do you—oh." Gilbert takes in the sight of the boy, who is dripping but still very much in noble clothing. At first Mathias steels himself for another sharp comment about how much better Mathias thinks he is than anybody else, but instead, Gilbert just folds his arms with his infamous smirk. "I kind of thought he'd be older."

Mathias whacks his arm. Behind him, the boy rolls his eyes. "Look, seriously, I have to run. Tell Arthur I'm sorry, okay?"

Gilbert's face seems to stiffen as he realizes that this is actually happening, and then he sighs. "Well, go get 'em, Matt."

"I'll do my best," says Mathias, and he surprises himself with his sincerity. Turning to the boy, he asks, "A couple of hours until the family shows up?"

"Yes, so let's _go_!" And the boy yanks an all-too-willing Mathias behind him.

* * *

"Repeat the words back to me."

"'That's a very pretty dress, miss.'"

"Do not ruin this."

"I won't, Father."

Lukas and his father are sitting stiffly in the parlor. Every so often his father asks him to repeat the words that Lukas's intended, Natalia Braginski, has on her arm. The Braginskis have in turn been fed Lukas's words, and Natalia will no doubt be drilling them in the carriage. Lukas's father chose the Braginski family for their untainted lineage and the shared shame of a child with too-late words.

Lukas has to do his best not to feel queasy. With the staging, he will be hacking away his ties with the soulmate he was meant to have and splicing himself to another. But what can he do? He is the heir apparent, with Emil meant to marry a foreign merchant and likely never return. Emil provides the Bondevik name with money, and Lukas with blood. Lukas isn't selfish enough to force Emil into his own position, and to force his soulmate into this restrictive world.

Lukas and his father listen to the clock in the hallway, all the while failing to look at each other. The silence is interrupted by the too-quick steps of someone walking down the hallway. Lukas turns his head to see Emil, in rumpled clothing and with hair that looked as if it had very recently been wet and then haphazardly towel-dried.

"Emil," says their father, "what is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of what, Father?" Emil asks with the blank stare that he and Lukas are so used to using on their father. He averts his eyes as usual, but what's strange is that his eyes go immediately to Lukas, and with some urgency. Lukas raises an eyebrow.

"Your appearance. It is unbefitting of a Bondevik, especially on such an important day. Go change at once."

"Yes, Father. I only had some trouble at the docks."

Emil doesn't normally volunteer such information. Lukas looks at him again. Emil is trying to look at him, and flicks his eyes towards the stairs.

"Perhaps, Father, I will help Emil choose a more suitable ensemble," Lukas slowly volunteers. He starts to get up from his chair when his father barks at him.

"No. You will stay put, Lukas. We have servants for that."

"Father," Emil interjects, "I do wish for my brother's opinion, especially on such an _important_ —" And here his eyes flicker to Lukas, who only understands the part of Emil's message that says Lukas should really speak with him right now.

"Emil, if you wish to spend time with your brother, you can do so after the Braginskis arrive. There will be plenty of time. Now leave us be and go change, or else you will stay in your room for the entirety of the meeting."

"And are you so afraid to call it a staging?"

The accusation from the thirteen-year-old shocks the other two in the room. All three of them had been dancing around the topic, but Emil's uncharacteristic outburst has Lukas truly concerned.

The gravel outside the house begins to rumble. The Braginskis have arrived early.

"Go upstairs," seethes their father, "and let this be the last I see of you until supper." He gestures for Lukas to stand, and Lukas does so while staring at his little brother. Emil stands in the doorway a moment longer, his nerve apparently gone from him, but as their father shoves past his younger son to stand at attention outside, Emil mouths one word to Lukas while gesturing to the carriage outside with his eyes.

 _Don't._

Emil then runs down the hall and upstairs, as if running to catch something. Lukas takes a moment to steel himself, and then stands at attention in the parlor.

The Braginskis are shown in. There is a father almost as stern-looking as Lukas's own, a gently smiling mother, an apathetic son, and the girl who is obviously Natalia. She glares at Lukas the minute she sees him.

"And where is Yekaterina?" Lukas's father is inquiring as the family shuffles in.

"She is with her husband," says Lord Braginski gruffly. "I have brought my two youngest."

"And I my oldest," says Lukas's father gravely. This miniscule round of small talk is apparently over, because all spectators look at the two intended at the same moment.

Lukas stares at Natalia Braginski. She won't be an easy wife to have. She will clearly be the sort to do anything she can dream out of pure spite. Lukas will have to have children with this woman who looks like she wants to spit acid at him and watch him melt onto the floor. He will have to pretend that this person was the one he was meant for.

He doesn't know if he can.

When both remain silent, Lord Braginski steps forward and, with one hand, holds Natalia by the neck. It can only be a light squeeze, but he appears to be both puppeting her and reminding her of the family's expectations.

Slowly, she hisses out with venom inappropriate for the words: "I don't suppose you're Lukas?"

The call has been made, and now it's on Lukas to respond. He remembers Emil's near-desperation to speak to him a minute ago. He can hear footsteps upstairs, rushing and then halting. The entire house seems to be silent, waiting for Lukas to reply.

"I'm sorry."

All of the Braginskis and Lukas's father inhale sharply. Natalia stares at him with a bit of shock and confusion, and—is that gratitude?

"I can't, I just—" Lukas doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't know what to say.

"You cannot," says Natalia, and it sounds like an accusation at first, but maybe he alone hears the agreement.

Lukas straightens. "I cannot."

Lukas's father now becomes the one to glare most at Lukas, now that Natalia has surrendered. "Lord Braginski," he says, "I apologize a thousand times for this apparently useless meeting. I beg you to forgive my heir's insolence, and—"

"Please show us our chambers," says Lord Braginski, looking coldly at his daughter. "Insolence is something we are both cursed with, and while I wish to rest, I do not wish to suffer more than one traitor for long."

Lukas's father summons a servant. He doesn't even have to tell Lukas to go upstairs. Lukas simply knows.

* * *

Mathias can hear voices from the bedroom he's holed up in, but he can't for the life of him make out what they're saying.

"Did you have to say goodbye to your friend?" Emil sighs from the bed he's lying on. Mathias knows it's Lukas's, but he knows it in the way that he knows China is east—he's certain it's the truth, but he can't quite wrap his head around it. Mathias prefers to stand, too anxious to do anything else.

"I couldn't just leave work. Do you know how lucky I am to have a boss who's helping me find my soulmate?"

"Do you know how _un_ lucky you are that we met today, of all days?"

"I know, I know." For the umpteenth time, he runs his hands through his drying hair. "Why can't I go downstairs?"

"Appear sopping wet on our family's stairwell and be captured by my father on sight? That's a great idea."

"Well can you break a staging, then? All the fairy tales say you can, or at least the ones I heard, but it needs a kiss. Am I even ready to kiss? I mean, he's my soulmate, of course I will, but there was only this one girl when I was six, and she said it didn't feel like anything, so what if—what if it doesn't work? Then what? Do I feel something when the staging happens?" He pulls out his forearm, staring at the words that have been there since he was seven. He can read them now, has been able to for a year or so, and they're still there, which is the only reason that he's not running downstairs and to the arms of certain doom. He already tried once, when Emil came upstairs, but Emil told him to trust his brother and wait a minute.

Honestly, the only reason he wasn't charging downstairs despite Emil's warnings is that Mathias doesn't know if Lukas wants this. If Lukas doesn't want to stage, then Mathias will fight for him. But Lukas and Mathias have never met, never talked about this, and Mathias doesn't know, and the twin desires of claiming his soulmate and obeying his soulmate's potential wishes have kept him glued to the spot.

Lithe footsteps are coming up the stairs, and Emil and Mathias both turn their heads to the door just as it swings open.

Two of the deepest blue eyes Mathias has ever seen lock onto his, and his stomach turns in place. Before him is a fairy's face, with a sharp jaw and cheekbones to cut glass. A stray bit of blond flicks away from the rest of his golden hair, like it's floating, and Mathias falls in love with the way it bobs as the person stops to look at him as if he's just remembered something that he can't live without. His pink lips fall apart, and those deepening blue eyes widen.

There is no way that this is Mathias's soulmate.

But he has to double-check.

"I, uh, don't suppose you're Lukas?"

A beat. Then:

"Your handwriting is shit, you know."

And before Mathias can even move, even confirm to himself that _those are my words_ , Lukas's lips are on his, and it tastes like coming home.

When they pull apart, Lukas is looking up at him— _oh my god_ , Mathias thinks, _I'm taller than him and he's mine_ —with equal parts curiosity and wonder. At least until he gets a good look at Mathias. And then his ears turn pink.

Mathias laughs. Lukas is embarrassed? "What?" he asks.

"You have freckles."

Unconsciously, Mathias feels his cheeks. From working in the sun, his pale skin has probably picked up a bit of color. He hasn't really given it much thought, but Tino once said the freckles made him look cute. "D'you like them?" he asks, and suddenly this is a very important question.

Almost beside himself, Lukas nods immediately. Mathias beams at him, and they share another moment of just _looking_ at each other. Somewhere in the middle of this, Emil grumbles, "I'm done," and slips past them. Mathias doesn't notice. He doesn't even realize until the door clicks shut that he ought to ask about the state of his soulmate.

"Oh, um, so—what happened downstairs?"

Lukas startles. "Oh. I couldn't do it."

Mathias can't ignore the way his entire chest seems to swell at that. "Was it—did you hear me, up here?"

"Honestly? No. I just—I couldn't, not knowing you were somewhere. Not knowing how you—and really, what is this?" He rolls up his sleeve and shoves his forearm in Mathias's face. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're going to be in for this? And you're not even registered, and everybody's going to know why now, and for some reason you're wet—"

Mathias stills Lukas by slipping his hand into his. "Who's everybody?"

"…The nobility. All the lords and earls and viscounts, everybody."

"Well, and so what?"

"So, that's illegal. You could go to jail, and I can't just let you…"

"Hey, calm down," says Mathias gently. "We'll figure it out. I just want to be with you for a moment, alright?"

Lukas purses his lips. And then he sighs. "Well, if you broke the law for that, maybe I can spare a few minutes. But only if you tell me your name."

Mathias breathes a laugh in surprise. "It's Mathias."

Lukas stares at him briefly, and then nods as if this is good enough for him.

They sit on Lukas's bed, and it takes a bit of awkward shuffling for them to find a comfortable position. They don't know each other's bodies yet, but after a minute Lukas has his head on Mathias's shoulder (with a pillow in between to protect from his wet clothing) and their fingers are tangled together.

Mathias laughs lightly and very suddenly. When Lukas makes a questioning noise, he nods down to their forearms.

"You can see our words at the same time."

Mathias can't see it, but Lukas smiles very slightly. "Of course we can, idiot."

* * *

Twenty-year-old Emil waits at the pub for the ship that will take him to Lukas's harbor. It's high time he visited his brother, especially since Berwald and Tino have recently adopted a son and Mathias is starting to wonder more and more about adoption for him and Lukas. Emil wants to be there for Lukas, and to offer financial support if need be.

When he officially took the title at seventeen, Emil found that he rather likes being Lord Bondevik. He enjoys managing the family accounts especially, and he put their wealth to good use by throwing himself into various charities, including a literacy program for commoners. Even the endless socialization isn't all bad when he persuades someone to take him seriously and donate to the cause.

He was never meant to take over the family title, but it ended up in his hands at the age of thirteen. Or rather, he stole it from Lukas. The evening after Lukas met his soulmate (who had to escape out a window after a few hours, lest Lord Bondevik visit Lukas's room unexpectedly), Emil took his brother aside and explained his role in bringing the two together. The two brothers then had a long talk that settled the family's future: Lukas was going to go with Mathias, and Emil was going to take over as the heir apparent. Lukas didn't like this plan mostly out of fear of his own selfishness, but Emil assured Lukas that after some time, their father would see the advantage to having Lukas as the heir and take him back, Mathias in tow. If their father couldn't accept that, then Emil really would become the heir, and didn't Lukas trust his younger brother enough to be alright?

Unbeknownst to Lukas, Emil had a second motive for taking the family title: he might be able to stall meeting his soulmate. It isn't that he's avoiding said soulmate—it's more like he wants to take his time. And, if the finances and the lessons and the endless balls and tea parties occupy Emil too much for him to meet with anybody from the east, well, what a shame.

Emil has a good life, soulmate or none. Mathias's boss, an Englishman whom Emil knew through Francine Bonnefoy-Kirkland, offered both Mathias and Lukas jobs at a port a day's sailing away from the one Emil lives in. Lukas, with his superior literacy, became the new portmaster, and Mathias started as a sailor but soon picked up work at the local pub when Lukas complained about his constant absence.

Restrictions regarding literacy in this port aren't as strict, and Emil is using it as a model for his charity work. Of course, this also means he has to visit the model city from time to time, where he is always welcomed by not only his brother and his husband, but by Berwald and Tino. The pair joined Lukas and Mathias by the end of his brother's first year with Mathias, Tino to mother-hen over Lukas and his soulmate's best friend ("Mathias, you could have told me you had words!") and Berwald because (as Mathias claimed) he "missed his best buddy already."

Emil is ultimately grateful to be the new Lord Bondevik, though he won't deny missing his brother or even the gruff guidance of his late father from time to time. He has independence and the ability to change lives, and a family to visit whenever he needs the time away.

He sips on his ale and becomes aware of eyes on him. At the table beside him is a young man from what Emil guesses to be southern China, a merchant by the looks of his modest but well-made clothing. His face is as stoic as Lukas's, but Emil knows how to read stoic faces. This one in particular is fascinated by him.

Emil catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow.

The stranger speaks. " 太可愛" ( _So cute._ )

Outwardly, Emil remains impassive. He takes another sip of his ale and casually lifts his arm, pretending to stretch but really checking his arm to see if the tones he heard matched the characters he'd studied for so long.

He then chokes on his ale.

"Oh no."

Whether from seeing Emil's arm or hearing his own words, the stranger grins. "Oh _yes_."

 **Edit Dec. 3 2016: thanks to RandomPerson on AO3 for correcting me on the Cantonese!**


	2. Not a Chance (HongIce Bonus)

**I sincerely thought I was done with this story. But I responded to so many reviews commenting on the HongIce, and finally after Skye Phoenix Dove's review explicitly hoping for a sequel - well, the first sentence appeared in my head. And then the next. Oh dear.**

"Don't even think about it."

"But baby, I—"

"I am _not_ your baby."

"I just want to sit at your table."

"You're doing perfectly well at your own table."

"It doesn't have you at it."

Emil doesn't know how to reply to this. Nobility spars with words, true, but they spar with subtle accusations of inferiority. This merchant—his _soulmate_ , he thinks with a scowl, as if spitting the words in his mind will make the idea go away—spars with flirtations and unending gazes and that subtly cocked head that makes him look both curious and attract—no, _no._

Emil doesn't believe in love at first sight. What happened with Mathias and Lukas was some sort of delirium, he's sure of it. Lukas was shaky after having openly defied their father, and Mathias was just crazy in general, if he hadn't knocked himself in the head diving into the harbor to save Emil seven years ago. Now Emil feels as if he's just resurfacing from a horrible, unexpected shock, only the person retrieving him is not an overly smiling blond with mussed hair and freckles. It's this foreigner.

His _soulmate_.

The merchant slips out of his chair and sits across from Emil with only the scuff of wood against the floor to indicate he's moved at all. He places his cup of tea next to Emil's flagon and one foot next to Emil's crossed and extended legs.

"You thought about it," Emil accuses.

"I _did_ it." The foreigner shows no remorse.

"Get your foot away from mine."

"I thought nobility was supposed to be nicer?"

" _Please._ "

"And you're being so standoffish because…?"

The foreigner looks at him expectantly. Emil doesn't know what he's expecting. Some confession of hidden attraction? An attestation that Emil has been waiting so long for this moment? A kiss? Lukas and Mathias kissed. Emil doesn't want to.

It's not that the foreigner isn't handsome, he supposes. Lithe but well-built, maybe a little shorter than him if they were both to stand. He takes care of his hair and skin and smells vaguely like wood and smoke and eastern perfume.

It's the _idea_ of him. The fact that Emil had to learn Cantonese, that his father sent him to so many merchants and hired him so many tutors on language and culture and business and everything else to prepare him for this one moment. The assumption that the person sitting in front of him is going to whisk Emil away to a different world, that the foreigner already has a claim on him just by catching his gaze in a tavern.

"Your ship leaves soon, doesn't it?" Emil asks. This tavern is seaside for a reason.

"Just arrived." The foreigner brushes the comment off easily. "I thought I'd take in my surroundings. Glad I did."

"Don't be."

"And why's that?"

"My ship leaves soon."

This makes the foreigner pause. He's not stilled with fear, like Lukas would be, and his expression isn't falling, like Mathias's would. He would probably never chatter like Tino, nor stare at him like Berwald does. Emil knows that Berwald is staring into space half of the time. The foreigner, in contrast, is staring _at him_ , and it's nothing Emil is familiar with. The nobility stare through him, the commoners stare past him, and his brother and his friends stare with him. Emil isn't used to being so scrutinized, and though he refuses to think too much about it, he wants to know what the foreigner is finding that makes him not only keep staring, but come closer to do so.

"Don't board it, then."

The foreigner says this like it's easy, like it's an option.

"I'm boarding the ship."

"You really shouldn't. We've only just met. You might like me."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"You wound me." This is said with a little more playfulness than Emil is used to, but still with a deadpan expression. There's something underneath that façade, Emil knows it. "We don't even know each other's names."

"I'm nobility, and you're a merchant. The list of names in either category isn't very long."

"So save me some time. And a surname." The foreigner holds out his hand. "I'm Kaoru."

Emil eyes the hand. It's his turn to stare, to figure out what's behind this. He has to admit, though, that the foreigner hasn't petitioned for anything beyond a name and a seat. And to derail his plans and possibly his life.

Against his better judgment, Emil takes the hand. It's purely for politeness. "Lord Emil Bondevik. And I'm still boarding that ship."

"Oh? Going to meet your other soulmate?"

Emil scowls. "My brother, and his."

Something in the foreigner's—Kaoru's, he supposes—eyes lighten. Emil notices. "Who did you think I was meeting?"

Kaoru has been propping himself on the table with his elbows, but now his hands reach to wrap around his teacup. "I don't know. Maybe it was another merchant. Or a first. Or something."

Emil raises his eyebrow. "A first?"

Kaoru pauses, as if looking for the right words. "With nobility," he concludes, "at least in Hong Kong, sometimes people take a first. Just to practice."

"Practice—oh." Emil doesn't know why that makes him flush slightly. He's no stranger to how soulmates act once they get comfortable with each other; from the way Berwald grunts at Mathias sometimes, Mathias and Lukas are quite vocal about their own comfort. It's seen here as a sign of fidelity to be inexperienced, though. To do everything new with the one you're meant to do it with.

"And with merchants?" Emil asks.

Kaoru shrugs. "Whatever we want, I guess."

Emil doesn't dig deeper. He's hung up on the idea that Kaoru thinks Emil might have had a first. That he thought at all about Emil before they met. Emil has his own preconceptions about soulmates, but mostly about what one would mean to his life. He doesn't think about personality traits much. He wonders if Kaoru thinks the same.

"What did you think I would be like?" Emil asks.

Kaoru goes back to staring at him more intensely, and Emil wishes he hadn't asked this question.

"I thought you'd be a brunet," Kaoru concludes. "And that you'd have a better choice in drinks."

Emil hardly feels defensive about his choice of ale. The only reason he drinks at all is because the older, more experienced nobles do, and he needs to build his tolerance up so he can talk them down at social events, when they're a little too inebriated to remember their prejudices against literate commoners. Personally, he doesn't enjoy the taste.

"I also thought you'd try to greet me in my language," Kaoru continues.

This, Emil rankles at. "I've had enough practice in your language."

"Oh?" Kaoru takes a sip.

"My father sent me to all kinds of tutors to learn your language. And other merchants, too."

"Was one of them a Wang Yao?"

"Who—you mean Yao Wang?"

"Sure."

Emil racks his brain. That was somewhere between one and two years before Lukas and Mathias met, back when Lukas was the one to become lord and their father was pursuing Emil's merchant destiny with more fervor. "Long hair. Smelled like flowers."

"Jasmine. He's really proud of that. He's my uncle."

"Ah."

"And when my parents found my words, they begged him to take me along."

"You're telling me we could have met earlier?"

"I refused to go."

This is new. Emil looks at him with more interest. "Why?"

"I didn't want to speak your language any more than you want to speak mine."

"But here we are."

"But here we are." Kaoru takes another sip of his tea.

"…So what changed?"

Kaoru waves his hand around. "You don't see this in Hong Kong. After a while, I got tired of seeing the same things. Talking to the same people. And the money really, really didn't hurt."

Emil gets the idea that the money is in fact the main factor. "So you speak my language so well because you're trying to earn more."

"Nobody buys from a guy who can barely pronounce properly."

Emil's tutors have drilled into him the importance of good diction. He doubted it in his childhood, but as he assumed the family title and began to conduct his own affairs, he found himself increasingly in alignment with their views. And this he had to achieve in his own language. Kaoru's language, to him, is rusty and clunky and used only to entertain the lower-rank nobles for a sentence or two before the topic moves to matters closer to home. Emil can't help but admire Kaoru a bit for his perseverance and logic. Even if the motive leaves a little to be desired.

"Why here, then?" Emil asks.

"Yao's old business partner, Arthur Kirkland, has control of the port. They had a falling out, but he was fond of me, so he lets Yao continue business here on the condition that I come instead."

Emil nods.

"But I think money probably doesn't interest you."

Emil pauses, then nods again.

"I mean, you're noble, so of course it doesn't. But you don't look interested. So tell me," Kaoru asks with a raised eyebrow, "what do you do with the family fortune if you're not building it?"

This is a question that Emil's father would ask. His comfort levels drop slightly. "I run charities," he responds curtly.

"Hm?"

"For commoners."

"Hm."

"Who can't read."

This catches Kaoru's interest. "I thought that was illegal here."

"I'm working to change that."

"You must not be very popular with your parents." But then Kaoru catches himself. Emil did introduce himself as _lord_. "Or with the other nobles."

"Not really. But it's the least I can do."

"Is that all you do?"

"Well, I visit my brother."

"And?"

"I, uh, do the family finances. And walk in the garden."

"And?"

"…That's all."

Kaoru looks at him oddly. "You don't get tired of"—he gestures in the air again—"all this?"

Emil has a sinking feeling that they're getting to the heart of something. "No. Not really."

Kaoru looks at Emil. "Maybe you just haven't seen anything that could change your mind."

Emil bristles. Now he's remembering why he doesn't like the idea of Kaoru. Of _soulmates_. "Nor do I really want to, thank you. I'm happy, Kaoru," he says, and he really means it. Means it maybe a little too much.

"Well, I'm happy with my trade, _Emil_ ," says Kaoru.

"Good."

"You're not even tired of the other nobles?"

"Not a bit."

"I don't believe you."

Emil can't blame him. He is lying a little—he doesn't like the company his life provides, per se—but he does like his life.

"Why are we soulmates?" Emil asks. For the first time, he sees Kaoru's mouth open a little in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Oh, great, and now he's back to speaking indecisively, imperfectly, like when he was a kid and Lukas was there to cover for his inadequacies as a Bondevik. "It's obvious you're happy. And I'm happy, mostly. And two different things make us happy."

"…That's a good way to put it. Mostly happy."

"But you were just saying…"

"Money is good, yes. And I like doing business. I'm getting good at it. But do you think Yao cares? I'm there as a favor to his sister, and he likes that I make the business grow, and he's pretty caring. But he doesn't _care_."

Emil is a little taken aback. Does Kaoru think Emil is going to care? He could, maybe, with time. He just doesn't want to right _now_. He doesn't know how. He doesn't want that pressure.

"So then," Kaoru continues, "I have words to look at when I'm trying to sleep on the ship, even if the words are just 'oh no'. And I know that nothing's really _wrong_ with my life, but then sometimes I think that maybe there's nothing missing, but there's something that could be there."

"Like somebody to tell things to."

"Yeah. Or somebody to buy things for."

Emil makes a face.

"Or, you know, something."

Emil can't help but feel a little bad. He's never felt lonely, exactly, but he does know that there's time in his day that could go to something else, if he didn't busy himself with things that he could technically delegate. Tending the garden, for instance, or doing the household's finances. There's a certain silence in the house, and while he likes silence, he doesn't like emptiness.

And it appears Kaoru feels something similar. Yes, at first he tries to go down the path that Emil has feared for nearly his whole life. The path of distraction, of diversion from everything Emil has worked so hard to build. But then he backs away. And he exposes a spot that Emil has been ignoring, has been considering as just another part of his armor. It turns out to be a chink.

Damn it.

"If you come with me," Emil says, "you can see how loud it gets in my life."

Something like a smirk crosses Kaoru's lips. "Oh?"

"I mean it. My brother normally doesn't say much, but he always has something to say around Mathias, even if it's just telling him to be quiet. And Tino is always talking to me or Berwald or Mathias, and don't even get me started about Mathias himself—"

"That sounds nice."

Emil blinks.

"Reminds me of home, actually. Yong Soo always trying to get Yao's attention, Mei and Lien always giggling about something. No wonder Kiku went away to study. It's chaos."

"I guess you're pretty familiar with it, then."

"Oh yeah. But I bet your sort of chaos is interesting."

"It's…a nice change, sometimes."

Kaoru snorts. "Yeah, I bet." He gets up, holding up his empty tea cup as proof that he needs a refill. He starts to stretch and step towards the counter, but stops somewhere between those two actions. He looks down at Emil.

"I'm not going to take you away, you know."

Emil doesn't think he was that obvious about his fears. He hopes the weight taken off of his shoulders doesn't show in his straightened posture.

"And I'm not going to make you stay."

They stare each other down for a second, daring one another to take it back. Then—and _oh_ , suddenly being soulmates makes a little more sense—Kaoru outright grins.

"You might change your mind later, you know." Kaoru croons. As he walks past Emil, he brushes a light hand over Emil's shoulder. "I'll persuade you eventually."

Emil flushes bright red. When he turns, he sees Kaoru already drawing the pubkeeper's attention and holding out his empty cup.

"Don't count on it!" Emil barks. He can feel Kaoru's smug cackle from halfway across the tavern and settles himself down, somehow knowing that the next drink is going to be on his soulmate.


	3. Epilogue: Anna

**Well hello there. If you've been following my other writing, you may wonder why the heck I'm posting so many epilogues tonight. The truth is that (a) I want to post everything I have for this AU while I'm thinking of it, (b) I still love Not With Haste because it's a simpler and happier plot, and (c) I'm trying to make it up to the people who came for the DenNor and didn't see as much of it later on.**

 **If you've only ever read this story of all my work, this update is for you. I feel like I should let you guys know that if you liked this AU, there are two other stories in the same vein: one is LietBel and one is RusAme, but the characters of all three of these stories intersect with each other all over the place. Whether you choose to pursue the series or not, please enjoy this oneshot I wrote to make myself happy.**

"Dad?"

Lukas looks up from his paperwork. His fourteen-year-old daughter is half peeking through the door, half stepping into his office. He clears his desk and stands, noting with concern the trepidation on her face.

"Anna," he says. "What's wrong?"

As if he's turned on a switch, Anna's eyes fill with tears. "I—um—"

Without thinking, Lukas steps across the room and envelops her in his arms. He tucks her head under his chin and holds it there with one hand, as he rocks her. "Shh," he says.

Anna sniffs. She mumbles something into his chest.

"I didn't hear that," says Lukas. He's still rocking her. It's worked with her since the first day they met, at the orphanage when he and Mathias went out to adopt a child. He'd expected he would want a boy, but two-year-old Anna had fit so perfectly in his arms, and he could still swear by the tension that left them both the moment she was settled against him.

Anna moves her head to give her mouth more space. She says in one rushed, choked-up statement, "I got my words."

"…Oh." Lukas looks down on Anna's head. "Why are you crying, then?" A flash of doubt echoes through him, fueled by the perennial bad comments he receives from those who disprove of his and Mathias's adoption. Lukas was certain Anna had a positive view on soulmates, but if she's reacting this way…

"It's a lot," says Anna. She's already calming down; her voice is clearer, and the wet spot on Lukas's shirt isn't growing any larger.

"You have a lot of words?"

"No," she says, laughing minutely. "Just a lot to take in." She pulls away from Lukas's embrace and shows her forearm, already bared from the summer heat. Lukas reads it instantly, knowing that Anna learned to read a few months ago and that he doesn't have to read it aloud.

 _Could we dance?_

Immediately his mind starts deciphering the person behind the request. This city's gatherings feature very little dancing, and the children of Anna's age would have neither the nerve nor the talent. A small piece of his memory bubbles up and he recalls all the dancing he did as a noble, all those years ago.

"Do we know any dancers, Dad?" asks Anna wryly. She's trying to slip into jokes, to cover up her settling distress. But Lukas sees in her eyes that she's still processing, still overwhelmed.

"Let's sit," he says. He gestures to the same couch he'd purchased when Anna was four years old, when Mathias went back to work and Lukas had her play patiently on the couch at the side of the room as he filled out the paperwork for the port. Mathias sits there on the occasional visit, but in spirit it's his and Anna's place.

Anna nods and settles herself. Her dress, newly lengthened to match her growth, catches under her feet, and she shuffles as Lukas rummages in a nearby drawer. He emerges with a bar of chocolate.

"No need to tell Papa," he says. "I'll bring one home later." He opens the parchment paper and breaks a chunk off of the bar for Anna. She takes it and nibbles at it, looking down and at the arm with her words.

"Does Papa know about the words?" asks Lukas when Anna doesn't respond.

Anna looks up at him. "Not yet. Come on, Dad, you remember what happened when I told him about my first bleeding. You need to know first so you can calm him down."

Lukas snorts in sympathy. Last year, when Anna bled for the first time, she told Mathias first. Mathias responded with a sort of mad panic wherein he dashed to the nearest three markets and obtained the softest, cleanest linens he could find along with several sorts of berries (Anna's favorites) and two bars of chocolate. Lukas hadn't even had the heart to scold his husband for using up the rest of that week's budget. Not when he could barely understand that his daughter was a woman, let alone a woman living in a family of men.

"He'll be excited," says Lukas.

"Are you?" asks Anna.

Lukas pauses. "I'm waiting to see what you think about this."

"I'm…" Having finished her chocolate, Anna plays with a loose string on her sleeve. "I'm excited. A little scared."

Lukas nods.

"I just—I always knew you and Papa were soulmates. And Uncle Tino and Uncle Berwald, and Uncle Emil and Uncle Kaoru. And you're all happy. But this—this one is mine." She waves her left arm. "I get one too."

"And that's scary?" Lukas clarifies.

"What if he's a noble?" asks Anna. "What if he can't be with me?" Her eyes widen. "What if he doesn't _like_ me?"

Lukas blinks. "I was a noble."

"…You?" Anna blinks.

"Didn't we tell you? You asked for the story so many times—"

"When I was little," says Anna. "I thought you were a merchant. Just richer than Papa."

Lukas shakes his head. "No," he says. "I was a noble. Then I left. That's why your Uncle Emil is a lord—he volunteered to be. So Papa and I could be together."

"I…guess I never really thought about it." Anna looks at Lukas re-appraisingly. "So when did you get your words?"

"A few years older than you. Seventeen or so."

"Did Papa know he was writing to a lord?"

"I don't think he cared who I was. I don't think yours will care either."

"You don't know that." Despite herself, Anna's voice grows a little thicker. "And even if he did, I'd miss you and Papa. I know Papa took you away—what if my soulmate takes me away too? Without letting me say goodbye?"

Lukas suddenly recalls a strikingly similar situation. For a moment, he sees Emil's face looking up at him instead of Anna's.

"Uncle Emil had the same concerns," says Lukas. "But Uncle Kaoru didn't take him away, did he?"

"No. Except for Christmas."

"And Uncle Emil asked him then. On top of that, your papa never took me anywhere I didn't want to go." Lukas leans a little closer to his daughter. "That's why you're soulmates—you're meant to be there for one another."

"Peter says not all soulmates are."

"Peter had a bad past. Many people do. But he has a good present, don't you think? With Uncle Berwald and Uncle Tino?"

"Because they're soulmates."

"Because they love each other and they love him. Just like Papa and I love you."

Anna is quiet for a moment. "Do you think my soulmate will be upset if I tell him I can't dance?"

Lukas is so taken off guard that he laughs a little. "I don't think he will be upset. And I can always teach you. If you want."

"If he wants," says Anna.

Lukas looks at his daughter. As their conversation progresses, she's been looking more lost in thought. Lukas knows the thoughtful expression on her face. He wore it himself.

"When I first got my words," he says, and Anna looks up, "I was relieved. I thought my soulmate was dead, or that he didn't care. But he did. He was just taking longer than I thought."

"I…feel relieved too," says Anna. "I want to love somebody the way you love Papa."

"Good. Then you're already halfway to a happy ending. Most people only want to be loved, not to love."

"What about you? When you got your words?"

"I just wanted your papa. Not even to love him, just to have him there."

"Me too," says Anna. She nods decisively. "I want to meet him."

"Then you'll have to know how to dance."

Before Lukas can register it, Anna has stood. She holds out a hand to him, obviously inviting him onto an imaginary dance floor in his office. Her face has always been predisposed to smiling, but at this moment her smile shines like the sun after a thunderstorm.

For the first time, Lukas realizes that that smile could go to someone else.

He takes her hand.

"I lead," he says. "I'll take your right hand with my left, and you place your arm on my shoulder."

Anna obeys, smiling wider. She hums a cheery tune that Mathias enjoys, and although the beat is wrong for the dance Lukas is trying to teach, he steps to it as best he can. Anna follows his feet as carefully as possible, her head bowed in concentration.

Lukas looks down at his daughter. Her light brown hair is in braids, carefully done by Berwald a few days ago. She moves as steadily as Tino and laughs as heartily as Mathias. She has Emil's sense of concentration and steadfastness, and from Kaoru she's learned how to argue her opinion and her will. From Lukas she gained a clear head and every piece of his heart that wasn't reserved for Emil or Mathias.

Lukas slows their dance and wraps his arms around her again.

"Dad," Anna intones playfully. But despite herself, she relaxes.

Anna will know her soulmate, Lukas thinks. She'll know just the same way Lukas knew she would be his daughter. She'll understand just like Lukas did how it feels to catch one set of blue eyes out of dozens, to be reached out to without even a word, to feel every tension ebb away when they touch at last. To know that no matter what man or law has to say, this girl is Lukas's.

Lukas tightens his hold and then releases. He looks at Anna, who smiles gently back.

He'll give her up when she's ready to leave, and not a moment sooner.


End file.
